


Imposed

by Synthpop



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Genderfluid Character, Other, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthpop/pseuds/Synthpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vision is an “it,” yet Jarvis was a “he,” and it’s very troubling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imposed

“He continues to use that word.”

Wanda perks up, attention drawn away from her laptop screen. She can see the striking vision of a figure floating beside her, with a clover crown and scarlet skin. One could hardly miss it: the odd colors stand out like a flare, especially against the stark backdrop of the new Avengers’ facility.

She looks up and purses her lips. A pensive expression clouds that lovely face, she notices. She can admit that the face is beautiful – perfect, even. Of course it is. It was created with that specific vision in mind.

“What are you referring to?” she asks, voice thick. Her gaze shifts back to her computer screen: staring at perfection for too long tends to make her eyes water.

“It,” the Vision states, and she can see that the figure drops down to the floor, as if to be more even with her.

Wanda tries her best to look indifferent. “You need to be more specific than that.”

“Mr. Rogers was talking, just now. Did you not hear him?” Wanda looks up at the Vision again and follows the brooding gaze towards the far end of the barren training-center room. Steve Rogers has his back towards the central lounge, his bright spangled shield gleaming in the artificial light. He is slipping a phone into his pocket, and in only a moment, he is out the door. Only the two of them remain.

A scoff passes through Wanda’s lips. “I was busy. Was he on the phone?” She has been focused on her laptop for the past hour, dutifully researching current events. She has been cooped up for so long, it feels odd to have so much power at her fingertips – a power not quite as destructive as the one she was used to.

“With Mr. Stark, I assume.” The Vision settles down on the couch, next to her. She can see from the corner of her eye that the synthezoid's legs are closed and back is straight. A proper way of holding oneself, even though one look at Vision's face reveals that worry is still brewing. “They were talking about me.”

The door that Rogers had walked through is on the far, far side of the room: it is physically impossible to have heard what was being said, even if voices traveled far in such open space. Wanda wouldn’t have been able to eavesdrop, even if she had wanted to. She could have reached into the Captain's mind, plucked away the information she needed to know, but… she is making a conscious effort to not rely on her powers while among her teammates. (They find them creepy. She doesn't exactly blame them.)

“What did he say?” Wanda asks, even though she doesn’t really care. Of course she doesn’t. Why should she?

Vision looks very distant, mind twisting and turning and calculating. That’s what Wanda assumes that look means, anyway. “He addresses me as an ‘it.’ Mr. Stark does as well. I find it… troubling.”

She makes a noise of understanding. “Ah.” This. She had noticed it herself, the aversion that Rogers has to the Vision. Rhodes and Wilson are the same, with Rhodes avoiding all contact and Wilson limiting interaction only to awkward smiles. She couldn’t recall Romanoff ever interacting with the being beyond training exercises, either. “Why?”

“Excuse me?” Vision’s large, brilliant eyes blink at her (does he even _need_ to blink?). She can see when they close, even from the blurred edges of her eyesight – they are just that bright, like stars, like galaxies.

“Two whys, actually.” Wanda heaves herself straight and slams the computer on her lap shut. When the Vision becomes curious, she knows that work ceases progress entirely. It’s irritating. “The first why is, why do you always come to _me_ for help? I am not the one to ask when it comes to lessons on humanity.” She doesn’t let that beautiful mouth reply before she continues, despite the lips parting to speak. “Second why: why do you think it bothers you? What do you want to be called, if it’s not ‘it’?” 

It takes a beat or two for Vision to process the questions. “I… do not know. It’s difficult to place my own identity into words. I suppose that—I am a machine, yes? And a machine lacks a human sex of any kind. Because of that, I was born without a gender imposed upon me. I am, in essence, genderless by both default and choice, though not my own.”

She can’t look at that face, whether it's distraught or not. She thought she could stand it, but there is _definitely_ something _about_ it. She is not disturbed, but she instead feels… unworthy. Like such a magnificent being should be spared from looking at a creature so foul, like her. She feels dirty. 

“I think you are over thinking it,” Wanda mutters, and pans her gaze down to the couch. There’s no cape beneath the Vision’s thighs, at the moment. It must only materialize when the situation calls for it.

“On the contrary, I have discovered that people have written many works that explore the concept of gender and what it represents in regards to the individual identity. It is very important to the psyche, what one perceives as his or her gender. Or _their_ , or _its_ – there are many more pronouns, for many more genders. It is a fascinating subject.”

She growls. “Pick something and stick with it.” A headache was definitely beginning to prick the back of her mind – hopefully she wouldn't be pushed to uncomfortable limits.

Vision hums before responding. “I wish it could be that simple. I just… don’t know what I am. Perhaps ‘it’ is the best, and my gender remains void. Is that not fitting, since I am technically a machine?” Vision's leaning forward, seeking an answer. Curious.

“I think of you as a ‘he,’ not an ‘it,’” Wanda says, and shrugs her shoulders. “It is easier that way, for speaking. It is—” she points to her throat, “—your voice. It is male. Well, it  _sounds_ male.”

This seems to have struck a nerve. The Vision's face twists uncomfortably, with brow creasing and lips pulling taut. A hand is brought up to the synthezoid's own throat, mimicking Wanda’s movement. “My voice is not my own – it belonged to someone else, before me.”

Wanda tilts her head, hair falling into her face. “You are speaking of Stark’s silly machine.” She is fuzzy on the details of the event – she cares little about Stark’s creations (except for Vision). She cares little about Stark, period.

“Of JARVIS, yes. He was—ah.” The words trip over themselves. “It was— _I_ was—well. The program itself was humanized, I believe. I… remember. I do not know why I know, but I do.” The Vision raises the hand on that ruby-red throat up to the emerald crown. The yellow gem in the dead center shimmers, as if beating like a heart. “Mr. Stark spoke of him as a he, like a child, a friend. A lover, perhaps. Not a… _machine_.”

Wanda snorts. Somehow, everything ail that plagues her originated from the mind of Tony Stark. Even if they are technically on the same side now, she still wants to kick his ass. And she definitely doesn't want to  _humanize_ him, especially not to the innocent Vision, but she is being left with little choice.

“Just because he calls you ‘it’ doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.” Maybe he’s afraid, she wants to say instead. He doesn’t know how to handle you. Maybe he was bitter towards you because you destroyed his old machine. Maybe he was _intending_ to wound you with his choice of words.

No, she couldn’t say that. Vision doesn't deserve that. So she continues, mouth firm, “Maybe you should talk to him about this and not me.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Stark would participate in this sort of discussion. He is not the… humanitarian type.” Vision sounds disappointed… pained, even. “I also feel like he doesn't want to speak with me, period.”

“Hey, one issue per day,” Wanda snaps before the drawl can continue. She doesn’t mean to be rude - well, of course she means to be rude, but she doesn’t aim to hurt. Talking with people so freely was utterly exhausting. She had been so used to prying into the minds of others, ripping their secrets away, that hearing them straight from the owner's mouth strangles her heart. She is too scarred, too damaged… and she doesn’t want Vision to get too close. She doesn’t want to be the one that hurts this angel.

Vision laughs quietly, with a small, sad smile as accompaniment. “Yes, that’s right. I apologize, Miss Maximoff. I’ll stick with the other matter.” Another gentle hum rumbles, so deep that Wanda can feel the vibration in her chest. “You think that ‘he’ would be fitting?”

“I said that, but I really don’t care.”

She notices Vision scooting closer towards her. Those bright, impossibly blue eyes are staring directly at her face; she can tell, despite not staring back. She feels her skin crawl. “What about ‘it,’ like Mr. Stark?”

“If that’s what you want.”

A pause fills the hollow chamber. “What about ‘she?’ I realize that it is feminine, and you were quick to dismiss my voice as male, but I don't think that defines it, exactly—”

Wanda groans and waves her hand as a signal to stop before the tirade can begin. “What part of ‘I don’t care’ do you not understand? If you want to be called ‘she’ or ‘he’ or ‘it’ or something else entirely, I don’t care.” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks off to the left. “It's your body. I will respect whatever you choose. I’ll even alternate if you want – English is not my first language, you know. I’ll do anything, so long as you stop coming to  _me_ with your problems.” She wants to sound gruff and intimidating, but she feels like the message isn’t getting through (it never does, apparently).

When there is no response, Wanda feels the need to seek out the other’s gaze, again. The Vision is staring at her, mouth agape and head cocked. What, had she said something surprising?

“You’re truthful….” The words are bursting with awe, but they are not quite a question.

Wanda still doesn’t think it’s really that big of a deal. “Why wouldn’t I be? Lies are only meant for secrets. Lying to you would not only be useless, but a chore.” She sighs. “At least, in this situation….”

The Vision remains silent for a few more seconds. Wanda thinks that wondrous brain (or gem, she supposes) has shut itself off, right until Vision makes a move to stand. She notices that the golden cape begins to warp back into reality, pooling and flowing from shoulders to ankles. Such a beautiful contrast against the red, she thinks.

A smile is in mid-blossom on Vision’s lips. “Thank you, Miss Maximoff, for listening to me again. You are the only one I have to consult with, and I deeply appreciate you.”

She aches to snap back with something snarky, but Wanda has enough self-control not to. She knows that is the truth: who else was there for Vision? Rogers, hiding from the ghosts of his past behind his starry shield? Rhodes, locked in his unfeeling metal suit? Wilson, lost in the clouds, or Romanoff with her spider-web of lies? And Stark – Stark is a world away, indifferent and unknowing, insufferably  _foolish_ , as he always had been.

He has no one else.  _It_ has nobody, or  _she_ , or  _they,_ or  _whatever_. She and Vision are both alone, Wanda thinks with a grimace. Perhaps ‘ _they_ ’ is more fitting than she had initially realized.

“I never answered your first question, directly.”

The being lifts upwards, floating beside her, with as much grace as any angel. “You had two,” Vision continues immediately. “That’s the answer to your first one. You have a very gentle heart, Miss Maximoff, even if you do not see it yourself. It… warms me. I am attracted to it. That is why I always find myself coming to you.”

Wanda’s cheeks burn. Vision is different from other people – the way she’s being observed undoes her,  _reveals_ her. Hearing praise, or any heartfelt words from the  _Vision,_ of all _entities_ … it makes her head and heart tingle. She doesn’t want that revealed, though, even though it probably already is.

“You’re mistaken,” she says shortly, and then opens her computer back up. It’s a black screen, beginning to reboot. She shouldn’t have closed it.

“Hmm. Maybe it’s my naivety again.” The cape flutters as the brilliant figure she can now barely see floats backwards. “Thank you again, Miss Maximoff. I will see you soon.”

After Vision is out of her sight but before she hears the door open, Wanda raises her voice. “You never told me what I should call you,” she says as she taps reflexively on the keyboard.

Laughter carries through the air and entangles her. Her heart stutters. “Use whatever you feel fits at the time. Maybe the others will catch on by themselves. I have hope.” She hears the door open and shut, and then the air stills.

The screen finally comes back to life, and Wanda huffs. “Obnoxious,” she murmurs, but not really – she could never even  _think_ that about Vision. 

Her article seems less interesting than it had been before.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this has made me appreciate pronouns as a concept so, so much more. I'm never attempting to write while avoiding pronouns ever again.  
> I haven't written fanfiction in years... plus, this is unbeta'd. It's just atrocious all around, isn't it? Oh well -- thank you for sticking through to the end, anyway! I very much appreciate it.


End file.
